You can't tell what's aboard a container ship. We carried every kind of cargo, all of it on view: a police car, penicillin, Johnnie Walker Red, toilets, handguns, lumber, Ping-Pong balls, and IBM data cards.

[J.Lo] found us a police car. Sort of.
'It's not a police car,' I said.
'It is,' said J.Lo. 'Looknow. Lights for flashing.'
'That's true.'
'Writing on the sides.'
'Yeah, but the writing? It says ''BullShake Party Patrol.''
Yes. Whatnow?

I promise you a police car on every sidewalk.

If it's sent by ship then it's a cargo, if it's sent by road then it's a shipment.

In public relations, you live with the reality that not every disaster can be made to look like a misunderstood triumph.

I remember standing in the crow's nest as we entered the misty Panama Canal, and the strange sensation as the 4,000-ton ship rose higher and higher inside the lock.